I can say with confidence that Nicole Zuraitis is one of the brightest and most interesting voices in contemporary jazz. And I mean voices that not only sing, but also create — making something of their own, something distinctive — and, on top of that, even play live.
—Gregory Golub
I can say with confidence that Nicole Zuraitis is one of the brightest and most interesting voices in contemporary jazz. And I mean voices that not only sing, but also create—making something of their own, something distinctive—and, on top of that, even play live.
Her productivity is undeniably impressive. Almost excessively so. Hey Nicole, where are you now? India, Japan, China... Or somewhere even cooler? Endless touring, projects, recording this “serialized” album, and more and more... And the inventiveness, too.
Of course, everyone reading this has already guessed what I’m about to talk about… Her latest album, The Devil I Knew—conceptual, as Nicole herself calls it. What is this—a penchant for musical adventurism? (Warms my heart—I’m much the same.) But probably not. Clearly, this project had been brewing for a long time; projects of this scale don’t just happen spontaneously. (Though, knowing Nicole even a little, you can never be 100% sure.)
One album—five discs, 20 tracks, and a full hour and 17 minutes of music. A stellar lineup—guest musicians, arrangers, a star producer, and even an orchestra making appearances along the way. All of this demands an all-consuming dedication, leaving only crumbs of time—after all that variety and almost nonstop touring—for sick seagulls and dogs… Oh, her unimaginable love of dogs—a passion shared by her other half, in music and every other sense, Dan Pugach: an excellent drummer, bandleader, and, by the way, a Grammy winner as well. (As Nicole once wrote to me: “He’s not the devil, he’s an angel!!!”) I’d like to believe that I, too, can count on a mere morsel of friendly attention, considering that, at the very least, my last name is a bird’s name. In most Slavic languages, Golub = Pigeon.
The very word “concept” already sparks intrigue, and in my case, for a very particular reason of my own (G.G. Music Concept, of course), it simply gives me a special little thrill... Nicole conceived and created a project that is unusual, unconventional, and decidedly out of the ordinary, yet one that unquestionably has its place. And here, the concept of intrigue feels entirely fitting—and has already proved quite successful. I applaud her boldness. Using classical poetry alongside her own lyrics takes enviable courage on the part of a songwriter. Nicole Zuraitis invites us to take part in the game and subtly draws us into it—gracefully, wittily, and with impeccable taste.
So, right from the start, confiding in the mirror, Nicole gradually introduces us to her multifaceted world—one shaped largely by what she has seen, and just as much by what she has imagined. The very next piece throws us into the embrace of a familiar musical past, perhaps deliberately conceived as retro through the mood created by the wonderful organist Larry Goldings. Moving forward, you immediately realize how effortlessly and playfully Nicole moves between genres. And yet everything is perceived as a cohesive whole, without making the listener want to stop and dissect exactly which nuances of genre are at play at any given moment. It is worth noting that all the tracks flow into one another, merging seamlessly without even a second’s pause—clearly a deliberate production decision. After all, we are talking about heavyweights like Larry Klein .
And here it is—the most playfully sassy track on the first disc, and perhaps of the entire project: He’s a Demon, He’s a Devil, He’s a Doll. Nicole plays it with considerable elegance and a substantial dose of sarcasm, alongside the mind-blowing bassist and bandleader Christian McBride. (After I myself happened to end up on the same playlists with him twice this year, I found myself thinking it would be great to talk to him in person.) And of course, the groove-heavy riffs laid down by the band fit perfectly here.
Returning to jazz on the second disc, we hear a rather vivid solo by the renowned tenor saxophonist Donny McCaslin in a piece called Two Steps Back. I have no idea—and perhaps Nicole herself doesn’t either—what suddenly drew her into this somewhat archaic realm of combining music and literature, while at the same time turning the whole thing into something almost revolutionary and magnetic for a younger generation that knows absolutely nothing about it. Or maybe it’s the magic of mysticism? And one thing is certainly true: this album is remarkably easy to listen to—all five parts of it, that is. As a side note, composers in particular often find it difficult to listen to someone else’s music for long stretches of time—though live concerts are an exception. The final piece on this disc, Never a Mistake, filled with the subtle lyricism of the performance and ending with the singer’s wonderful vocalise, marks—with enviable ease—a caesura in the continuing musical narrative. The undeniable contribution of the superb guitarist Gilad Hekselman should also be noted here—he seems to sense Nicole’s emotional openness instinctively, from somewhere deep within. Bravo! A deeply moving duet.
Moving on, diving deeper into the third disc. In All That’s Left, the strings enter right away—as far as I know, it’s the Budapest Scoring Orchestra—and once again, the lyricism of Nicole’s voice and performance is incredibly captivating. The song. The performance. The voice. (I confess, one of my favorites.) This is followed by a track called Vice Versus — interestingly, she is completely different here. And that’s great.
And so, almost without noticing it, we’ve made our way to the fourth disc. In The Hardest Part, alongside Nicole’s expressive performance, her longtime musical and touring companion Idan Morim appears, with an equally vivid guitar solo full of expression. And then, quite unexpectedly, good old jazz makes an entrance on stage: It Never Goes Away, a nice ballad that practically calls us back somewhere toward the roots—perhaps to Paris, perhaps to old Hollywood. (So captivating, and so carried away itself, that it sounds slightly provocative.) Let Us Hang once again quite logically leads us somewhere toward timeless rhythm and blues, again with that same terrific organist, Larry Goldings.
The fifth and final disc. The accompaniment is deliberately kept somewhere in the distance, while Nicole’s voice—almost on its own—sounds as beautiful as ever. I Get Along Without You Very Well — the final musical composition of the entire album—brings the orchestra back once again, along with some of her closest friends among musicians—and, I hope, my friend too—Nicole Zuraitis.
For nearly four years now, I’ve been watching the evolution of a concept called Nicole Zuraitis. And I’m especially glad that I recognized her great talent right from the start and first wrote about her before she went on to win her first Grammy—and then her second. Of course, that first Grammy, for Best Jazz Vocal Album—for an album Nicole had created almost entirely herself—was truly something special. Opinions on the Grammys vary widely, and among the awards’ critics are some very well-known jazz journalists. Where I fully agree with them is that the Academy gives far too little attention to that quintessentially American genre—jazz itself. I will always be happy to shower praise on musicians who truly deserve it. And Nicole is, without a doubt, one of them.
Above all, what I want to say, without hiding my personal fondness, is that I value her as a musician—as I do her “angel,” Dan Pugach—and consider her one of the finest jazz vocalists of our time. May you have a long and wonderfully interesting journey, The Devil I Knew. And, of course, Nicole Zuraitis together with Dan Pugach—how could I leave him out? I believe this project stands a very strong chance of winning at the 2027 Grammys, in what is bound to be, as always, a tough competition for Best Jazz Vocal Album. Having done a fair bit of work and enjoyed what I heard, I’ll wrap up this essay with Nicole’s own words from the Epilogue that closes the album:
~Gregory Golub, composer/pianist, jazz advocate
Her productivity is undeniably impressive. Almost excessively so. Hey Nicole, where are you now? India, Japan, China... Or somewhere even cooler? Endless touring, projects, recording this “serialized” album, and more and more... And the inventiveness, too.
Of course, everyone reading this has already guessed what I’m about to talk about… Her latest album, The Devil I Knew—conceptual, as Nicole herself calls it. What is this—a penchant for musical adventurism? (Warms my heart—I’m much the same.) But probably not. Clearly, this project had been brewing for a long time; projects of this scale don’t just happen spontaneously. (Though, knowing Nicole even a little, you can never be 100% sure.)
One album—five discs, 20 tracks, and a full hour and 17 minutes of music. A stellar lineup—guest musicians, arrangers, a star producer, and even an orchestra making appearances along the way. All of this demands an all-consuming dedication, leaving only crumbs of time—after all that variety and almost nonstop touring—for sick seagulls and dogs… Oh, her unimaginable love of dogs—a passion shared by her other half, in music and every other sense, Dan Pugach: an excellent drummer, bandleader, and, by the way, a Grammy winner as well. (As Nicole once wrote to me: “He’s not the devil, he’s an angel!!!”) I’d like to believe that I, too, can count on a mere morsel of friendly attention, considering that, at the very least, my last name is a bird’s name. In most Slavic languages, Golub = Pigeon.
The very word “concept” already sparks intrigue, and in my case, for a very particular reason of my own (G.G. Music Concept, of course), it simply gives me a special little thrill... Nicole conceived and created a project that is unusual, unconventional, and decidedly out of the ordinary, yet one that unquestionably has its place. And here, the concept of intrigue feels entirely fitting—and has already proved quite successful. I applaud her boldness. Using classical poetry alongside her own lyrics takes enviable courage on the part of a songwriter. Nicole Zuraitis invites us to take part in the game and subtly draws us into it—gracefully, wittily, and with impeccable taste.
So, right from the start, confiding in the mirror, Nicole gradually introduces us to her multifaceted world—one shaped largely by what she has seen, and just as much by what she has imagined. The very next piece throws us into the embrace of a familiar musical past, perhaps deliberately conceived as retro through the mood created by the wonderful organist Larry Goldings. Moving forward, you immediately realize how effortlessly and playfully Nicole moves between genres. And yet everything is perceived as a cohesive whole, without making the listener want to stop and dissect exactly which nuances of genre are at play at any given moment. It is worth noting that all the tracks flow into one another, merging seamlessly without even a second’s pause—clearly a deliberate production decision. After all, we are talking about heavyweights like Larry Klein .
And here it is—the most playfully sassy track on the first disc, and perhaps of the entire project: He’s a Demon, He’s a Devil, He’s a Doll. Nicole plays it with considerable elegance and a substantial dose of sarcasm, alongside the mind-blowing bassist and bandleader Christian McBride. (After I myself happened to end up on the same playlists with him twice this year, I found myself thinking it would be great to talk to him in person.) And of course, the groove-heavy riffs laid down by the band fit perfectly here.
Returning to jazz on the second disc, we hear a rather vivid solo by the renowned tenor saxophonist Donny McCaslin in a piece called Two Steps Back. I have no idea—and perhaps Nicole herself doesn’t either—what suddenly drew her into this somewhat archaic realm of combining music and literature, while at the same time turning the whole thing into something almost revolutionary and magnetic for a younger generation that knows absolutely nothing about it. Or maybe it’s the magic of mysticism? And one thing is certainly true: this album is remarkably easy to listen to—all five parts of it, that is. As a side note, composers in particular often find it difficult to listen to someone else’s music for long stretches of time—though live concerts are an exception. The final piece on this disc, Never a Mistake, filled with the subtle lyricism of the performance and ending with the singer’s wonderful vocalise, marks—with enviable ease—a caesura in the continuing musical narrative. The undeniable contribution of the superb guitarist Gilad Hekselman should also be noted here—he seems to sense Nicole’s emotional openness instinctively, from somewhere deep within. Bravo! A deeply moving duet.
Moving on, diving deeper into the third disc. In All That’s Left, the strings enter right away—as far as I know, it’s the Budapest Scoring Orchestra—and once again, the lyricism of Nicole’s voice and performance is incredibly captivating. The song. The performance. The voice. (I confess, one of my favorites.) This is followed by a track called Vice Versus — interestingly, she is completely different here. And that’s great.
And so, almost without noticing it, we’ve made our way to the fourth disc. In The Hardest Part, alongside Nicole’s expressive performance, her longtime musical and touring companion Idan Morim appears, with an equally vivid guitar solo full of expression. And then, quite unexpectedly, good old jazz makes an entrance on stage: It Never Goes Away, a nice ballad that practically calls us back somewhere toward the roots—perhaps to Paris, perhaps to old Hollywood. (So captivating, and so carried away itself, that it sounds slightly provocative.) Let Us Hang once again quite logically leads us somewhere toward timeless rhythm and blues, again with that same terrific organist, Larry Goldings.
The fifth and final disc. The accompaniment is deliberately kept somewhere in the distance, while Nicole’s voice—almost on its own—sounds as beautiful as ever. I Get Along Without You Very Well — the final musical composition of the entire album—brings the orchestra back once again, along with some of her closest friends among musicians—and, I hope, my friend too—Nicole Zuraitis.
For nearly four years now, I’ve been watching the evolution of a concept called Nicole Zuraitis. And I’m especially glad that I recognized her great talent right from the start and first wrote about her before she went on to win her first Grammy—and then her second. Of course, that first Grammy, for Best Jazz Vocal Album—for an album Nicole had created almost entirely herself—was truly something special. Opinions on the Grammys vary widely, and among the awards’ critics are some very well-known jazz journalists. Where I fully agree with them is that the Academy gives far too little attention to that quintessentially American genre—jazz itself. I will always be happy to shower praise on musicians who truly deserve it. And Nicole is, without a doubt, one of them.
Above all, what I want to say, without hiding my personal fondness, is that I value her as a musician—as I do her “angel,” Dan Pugach—and consider her one of the finest jazz vocalists of our time. May you have a long and wonderfully interesting journey, The Devil I Knew. And, of course, Nicole Zuraitis together with Dan Pugach—how could I leave him out? I believe this project stands a very strong chance of winning at the 2027 Grammys, in what is bound to be, as always, a tough competition for Best Jazz Vocal Album. Having done a fair bit of work and enjoyed what I heard, I’ll wrap up this essay with Nicole’s own words from the Epilogue that closes the album:
“Mirror, here’s the truth.
I’ve answered the dare.
For The devil I knewv is still alive in there.”
N.Z.
And Nicole — keep surprising everyone.
Me included.
You’re very good at it...
~Gregory Golub, composer/pianist, jazz advocate
